Pocketwatch
by Coco-Minu
Summary: They say every second counts. One, she began to lift her hand. Five, she drew her gun. Seven, she released the safety switch. She had always loved Sundays. Oneshot, RoyxRiza. AR.


Well, inspiration struck for a RoyxRiza story. My first Fullmetal Alchemist with my favourite pairing of this anime and manga. 

In the anime, it seems Riza is rather unaware of what happened at Ishbal apart from her involvement in Scar's case. I wanted to play on this idea, and try and bring out a darker side of the relationship between Roy and Riza. I also wanted to try a small friendship between Riza and Winry, almost making them like sisters. It seems that even though they are two dominant female characters in the series with about the same attitudes (towards either Roy or Ed) they never really have too much screentime together. So I felt like expanding upon them, and all the little things we know but most of the characters do not. Please bear in mind this is based from mostly the anime and not the manga (as much) before trying to correct me on certain details. I have not read the books, and only watched until about episode thirty-something in the UK due to there only being one anime channel. Which comes on at nine at night until early morning, so it's kind os useless at times.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.

* * *

**Pocketwatch****

* * *

****Speak when you are angry-  
and you will make the best speech you'll ever regret.  
-Laurence J.Peter, 1919-1988.

* * *

**

She pressed her thumb upon the stopper, wishing for it to stop ticking. But then again, if it did it would probably not be good for her small amount of remaining sanity. She liked to think that as long as it still ticked in time with her beating heart when she slipped it down her shirt next to her heart where she always carried it then it meant that his heart was beating too. So she could land a bullet or two in it, even if it took her down with him in the event in which he would try and defend himself with his alchemy. Not that it mattered. She knew his weaknesses from how it had been before, and she could use them against him.

There was also the slight problem with this. He knew her weakness too. They had both been dogs of the military, yet she had bit her master on the hand and fled. Him? Well, she was not so sure. She could locate him easily at a random guess, tell him timetable to any passer-by in an instant and even tell them where he kept spare weapons. Infact, she could tell anybody anything about him. She had become possessed with getting revenge, and gone against her natural orders.

Hawkeye, Riza had once been on her way to the top. The right-hand woman of Mustang, Roy. Somebody who had placed compleate trust in, and she had returned the favour in. She confided everything in him, even personal details. He did the same. It seemed a strange and strong relationship, but it was built on sand instead of stone. The foundations were weak. She had not even known why she had confided in him. He was one of the most unorgainsed, lazy and imbassilic (at times) people whom she had ever met in her life. But she had loved him for it.

No, she had not loved him for it. Love was too strong a word. Desire. The rule-following, organised, intellectual Riza had had a slight crush on him. A childish one at that. He had supported her, and she him in return. Yes, it was still strange. But she saw no reason for it to change. As well as this, she was lucky. She did not only have him. She had Winry as well.

Rockbell, Winry. At first glace upon meeting her, Riza had prejudiced against her as being one of the most simple people she had ever met. A country girl who had never seen hard work, toil, struggle and hardship. She had hated her on first sight. But how wrong she had been. Winry had lost her parents, working hard to support her family, looked after the Elric brothers, was a brilliant mechanic and apart from this, a genuinly kind person. The sort of person who always seems to have a smile on their face, even when they are standing in the pouring rain without an umbrella and being soaked to the skin so that they almost have pneumonia by the end of it. She looked up to Riza almost like a sister, and Riza had seen her in the same way. A steady friendship grew, one eventually obsuring Roy from the picture. He faded away, and pretty soon he was telling her that he felt as though she had become distant. She had laughed it off, saying he was getting jealous and paranoid. He had smiled at it too, agreeing with her. Alphonse once told her when he back had turned around however, it had soon become a sorrowful frown. She had not believed him, but deep down she still felt a small twang of guilt at it. Until that one day.

It had been an average day in July. The twenty-second, was it? It had been a Sunday, she was certain of that. She was not sure. Either way. As usual, she had been filing his paperwork for him because yet again he had not done it. Still, an average day. She was not supposed to read the paperwork, she knew that. Just to sign, stamp and ship parcels for the dark haired male. But every so often, even the work-virtuos Riza Hawkeye could not prevent herself from letting her eyes skim over the first few sentences to see if there were anything significant about the paperwork that caught her attention for small-level blackmail against him later. That was one of the upsides of doing his paperwork, she had remebered grinning at that thought. Still, the average day continued until she came across a letter adressed to him.

Now she knew she was not supposed to open nine-tenths of the mail directed to him. He just left the few he thought were insignificant in the pile; and she would usually discard them after opening them (and rather disgustedly), finding that they were from his attribute of being a womaniser. Any she had previously opened were from women he had slept with in one-night stands, and she always felt great shame for them and anger at him. She had never told him this, but she felt he could tell it from her mood towards him whenever something like that showed up. They were usually all the same, letters saying how heartbroken the woman was after he did not ever call or write to them. They were usually all the same type too: long blonde hair, sharp brown eyes and the features and body of a model. Or so they said. Some had included photos, asking if he remembered them. She had felt even more sickened at each one, usually resorting to shooting a few holes in them with one of her pistols each time one turnt up. The only girl who had some distinction was a prostitute, she could remember. She had sent a pair of checkered blue tartan boxers to the office, claiming they were his. When Riza had glared and thrown them in his direction with most of the vincity laughing at the stunned look on his face, it had a price to pay. Most people now thought she had slept with him. Sure, made sense. Other than the fact that would never happen. Ever.

Sometimes small memories like that made her laugh aloud at the silliness of them, but she soon bit her tounge afterwards. The letter she had opened that day was not from yet another one of his whores. It had been in neat calligraphy, and she still kept it in her trouser pocket at all times to this day. She folded it open, re-reading the neat handwriting and the story which had made her feel sick to the stomach. Which had made her hate him.

Made her lose her devotion to him on that Sunday of last year.

* * *

_**Mustang.**_

_**The girl you work with. Blonde hair, brown eyes. When I saw her, she seemed sharp with a gun. First Lieutenant Hawkeye, I do believe. You should tell her about Ishbal, as she seems devoted to you. Pretty soon, I will no longer be in this world. I feel something is coming for us. Somebody else will need to know what truly happened there, just in case.**_

**_Marcoh._**

* * *

It had been just a short note, severly out of date. Written on a Sunday, she remembered it said. If it were from Marcoh, he had been the one involved in the Scar case and the incidents with the red water (of which she understood it to be making a weaker form of the philosophers stone). He had died some time ago by the hands of Lust, one of the homunculi. If she remembered correctly, that was. That was all she had thought about the time, not questioning her superior about it until later that day. She had never seen Roy look so pale, and over something which happened so long ago. They had said it was just a civil war they had helped put down to those who had not been in it and seen the devistation for themselves. 

When Roy told her about the corruption behind it and all the blood spilt, she had sat in a silent numb shock for a moment. Almost paralysis. He had looked so ashamed, and she had been so appauled. But even so, she had grabbed him and lay her head on his shoulder and shed tears. It had been so spontaneous. It had been an innocent question, but something which had exposed such a dark lie. She had known that there was military propaganda and cover-ups, but not in this day and age. One of the people she had cared about most had been involved in it too. According to what he had said, he had even killed them. Them being Winry's parents.

She had never told Winry, because she could only imagine the destruction it was cause. She wondered if Winry alreasy knew, but she never asked. But for all the time he had reassured her that he was going to expose it when he became Fuhrer, she could never bring herself to believe a word of it for this very fact. If she had ever learnt alchemy instead of becoming a sniper, would she have been 'efficent' in the eyes of the military? Her throat had burnt at the thought. She could not have killed all of those people. Especially two doctors, who had just been trying to help. It had orphaned their daughter. Orphaned Winry. Try as she might, she could not quite bring herself to forgive Roy for that. Gradually, her care for Roy turnt into ignorance. Her desire turnt to a passing want. Any love she had became hate. How could she forgive what he had done? She had been so devoted, willing to give her life for the thing she wanted to protect. But she no longer had a reason to do so. How could she even trust him anymore? She felt as though she had lost her identity and her purpose all in something he had told her. The simple, honest truth. That was why she wanted him dead.

Because he knew the truth about her too.

* * *

She had waited there for a fair amount of time, but she could finally see the black ford pulling over into it's usual allotted spot. Just outside the door of the enterance to the Eden hotel. Four stars, not too shabby. But not the best, after all. She felt her thigh, knowing he gun was being held in a tight holster which was around it. She felt her second thigh, to the same result. Spare ammunition was even there, concealed underneath the plain white linen dress. She had given herself soft curls opposed to her naturally straight hair. Her black stilletos even had razor-sharp heels to be on the safe side. She looked, in a word, beautiful. In a second word however, she would be deadly. She was a femme fatal. He wouldn't know what hit him. 

The pocketwatch carried on ticking still as the door began to slide open. Her own heart thumped faster. Raven hair shone blue in the moonlight. Then there he stood, oblivious to her prescense. He was looking at his pocketwatch. She smiled. So he had a new one. Not that it mattered. A passing though crossed her mind about how he had always wanted an antique original from 1462, if she remembered correctly. Made by the Italian clockmaker Bartholomew Manfredi. But they were practically impossible to obtain. She knew this for a fact, she had tried to obtain one for his birthday as a gift once all those years ago. He walked inside, and a few moments after she followed calmly as she shook the trivial thought from her head.

"May I take your handbag, Madame?" A French concierge asked as she walked in. Whispering a polite no and a thankyou, she walked to the desk with a smile on her face. He was sitting on a beige leather sofa only metres across the room at that very moment. She could shoot him and have her job done, but that would ruin the moment. It was too prefect. He was a sitting duck. She was the fox, ready to kill it without so much as a thought to prevent her from doing so. No, she would find out his room and do it descreetly. Plus, Armstrong was standing next to him. Probably as an escourt, or better known as personal bodyguard. Such a shame neither of them recognised her, really. She scowled. She did not want them to recognise her at all. It would make problems in her plan. Flaws. She did not like flaws at all.

"Reservation. Under the name Hetzenauer." She told the woman at the desk, looking her directly in the eyes. You should always look a woman directly in the eye when lying. She smiled as the woman did exactly as expected. A baffled look crossed her face, then she looked at Riza apollogetically. Riza carried on smiling, hoping to God she could stop soon. It was beginning to hurt her jaw. Still, she carried on nonetheless.

"Sorry Madame, we have none under your name." She told her, shuffling her papers and trying to look as though she had a high amount of auhority. Bullshit. Riza made her fake smile drop, then looked startled. She widened her eyes for more extra effect, then made her eyes begin to sting as she thought unhappy thoughts. She had practised well, as the woman looked uncomfortable as she began to question this.

"But I booked two weeks ago for Sunday, today. See, here." She said in a hurt voice, pulling her faked papers out of her bag. Room fourty four. She had never been good at forgery, but with a little bit of persuasion others had come to her aid. Persuasion being death threats. She had once been the best sniper in the military, and that title had not come easy. If they had not co-operated with her, it might have got ugly. The woman took them from her hand, manicured nails scratching Riza's hand. She did not seem to realise, but Riza's eyes widened at the sight of blood. Ignorant woman. She tried to keep herself calm. Keeping the act going was vital to her mission.

"I'm sorry, Madame. That room has already been taken. But I can see this clearly shows you should be staying in it. I'll see what I can do." The woman said, poking a pencil into her dark bun that lay on top of her head. She could feel him looking at her now, and made her eyes well up with tears even more. Some spilt down her cheeks. The receptionist looked at her, obviously panicking at Riza's distraught state. Roy finally stood up, and started walking towards them. Armstrong stayed sitting, observing carfully.

"My sister's funeral is tommorow, what am I supposed to do?" Riza asked nobody in particular, dropping her head and covering it with her hands in what she knew to be mock upset. She smiled into her palms, then almost jumped as she felt an arm drape comfortingly around her shoulders. She moved her hands away from her face quickly, rubbing her tears away. Part one of her plan; damsel in distress, was compleate. She smiled at her 'saviour'. Roy Mustang. Her plan was just too perfect.

She loved Sundays.

* * *

"So, what is your name...Mrs...?" Roy asked, sitting her carefully in the armchair. The blonde smiled at him shyly, playing with one of her curly strands of hair as he examined her face carefully. She looked just like Riza. If Riza were to ever wear a dress. He frowned as she carried on twirling it around her finger. Armstrong had gone to get her a glass of water, to calm her nerves apparently. Of course, Roy just had to be her saviour. Why did she look so much like Riza anyway? Not that it mattered. He just had to jump in and save the girl, didn't he? Shame he had never managed that with the real Miss Hawkeye. 

"I'm not married. Miss Hetzenauer. Mr Mustang, I presume?" She asked, her cheeks tainted pink. He watched her continue playing with her hair, it was becoming rather irritating. Riza used to do that too. Except her hair was straight, so it did nothing. But this woman's hair just sprang back into place. He scrutinized her. She didn't seem much of a threat, but she was very pretty. Seemingly quite naive, too. So how did she know about the military? She could not. There was more behind all the painted on gloss and shine, and he was going to peel it all away if it was the last thing he done. Putting it bluntly, he did not trust her already.

"Yes. How did you know my name, may I ask?" He questioned her. She seemed to be racking her brain for an anwer for a moment, her eyes turning into a glaring pair of slits at him. They disappeared within a second, and she looked as though they had never been there as she flicked her hair back behind her. She did not need something to frame her pretty face. Just like Riza had not. He smiled softly at the thought. But Riza had left him. With no reason, not even saying goodbye. He frowned again. Goodbye was too permanant anyway.

"The Flame Alchemist. You're famous. A hero of Ishbal, right? Plus, I'm a Hetzenauer. I'm from a military family. Matthias Hetzenaur, if you've heard of him." She said airily, averting his gaze. One of her hands lay on her thigh, just above the rim of her skirt. White. It looked good on her. Just like it would have on Riza. He bit his lip. Why did every blonde woman look like Riza too him? She had left him, and even Black Hayate. That was almost over a year ago now. Or maybe it was a year. They said fondness made the heart grow stronger, so did unrequited love do the same? She had left just before he was going to tell her. That was a painful memory. He closed his eyes, letting the tears fade away before opening them again. She sat there still, looking at her hands as she moved her fingers around making strange shapes. She seemed a bit of an airhead. Nothing like Riza at all. Nothing.

"The most successful German sniper ever, with three hundred and fourty five certified hits." He said outloud, remembering the name. She had a good alibi. He must have just been imagining that glare. Lack of sleep, and all the exhaustion from travelling so much lately. Or maybe it was just that Matthias Hetzenaur had been a supporter of the Nazi party, and she did not want to mention him because of it. After all, who would want to mention they were related to the best German sniper in history if they were a Nazi? Either way. He felt more at peace around this woman now. Bearing in mind he was letting her stay in his room for the next few days, he supposed they must have some form of understanding and trust between them. Ishbal. This woman did not know the truth about it. She seemed to live in a world where everything was sweetness and light. That was not reality. Reality was cruel, harsh and unforgiving. He closed his eyes again, then heard a fast clicking noise. He opened his eyes again quickly as he felt something press against his head.

"Good, Roy. Finally been doing that paperwork, or learn it from a letter?" She asked. His eyes widened. Who the hell was this woman? She was glaring at him with such hate, such darkness. For once in his life, Roy Mustang felt intimidated. Judging from his heart beating so fast, he was also scared. Who wouldn't be when they had a gun against their head at point-blank range? Wait, a gun? His eyes widened even further.

"Riza, what are you doing?" He asked in a stunned voice. She looked at him. How to answer that question. She had been so devoted to him. Ready to go down without a fight when she had thought he was dead. Undying devotion, undoubted devotion. Devotion, devotion, devotion. What had he shown her in return? Nothing but pain, lies. No, not even lies. He did not have the courtesy to tell her them. He had told her the truth instead. The unfeeling and cold truth. She hated it. She hated him. Her finger clasped around the safety clip, ready to release it. His face was priceless. She smirked, passing a chill through his body that felt like ice. _Ten seconds to go._

"Recognise me now? Still remember my name? You should. You should always know the name of the person who kills you." She told him, her voice steady and unbreaking. Unbreaking devotion. Unbreaking. Always so constant and unbreaking. That was what she had given him. He looked into her eyes directly, then smirked back. This was not Riza. It couldn't be. She just had an uncannt resembalance. He slipped his hand into his pocket within a second, and slipped his glove on. Her eyes widened just like his had, but her hand remained in place. She hissed as he lifted his hand, ready to click his fingers and put an end to her in an instant.

"Miss Hetzenauer, I suggest you lower that gun." He told her, and Riza could hear the threat in his voice. So he was now going to kill her, thinking she was not really herself. Just another person with another identity on the streets of Berlin. One person. She didn't make a difference. But if he so much as moved his fingers, she would blow his brains out. She smirked. It was a lose-lose situation. Or win-lose, in the event she killed him first. _Seven seconds to go._

"It's Hawkeye to you, Roy. I can't believe I was once so devoted to you. You know I told you I joined the military because I had something to protect? That was you." She told him, smiling almost crazily. He bit his lip. It was her, it was. It was Riza. What other woman would carry around a pistol, then look like an angel whilst threatening to kill him? He smiled. If he died, she died with him all the same. What was the point in dying if you could live though? He gently raised his hand, placing it arounf her wrist. She swore, blinking wildly. He was certain she didn't even realise he was raising his hand. He placed it over hers as he stood up, pointing the gun at his chest instead. Over his heart. She looked shocked, but her grip remained tightly on the gun as she removed the safety latch. _Five seconds to go._

"Go ahead then, Riza. Pull the trigger, end my life. But it really ended long ago, when I stopped caring. So why were you so devoted in the first place?" He asked her, tightening his grip aroud her hands. He had stopped caring because she had left him on that God forsaken Sunday. She cried out, and he heard something in her finger crunch as she lowered her fingers down around the trigger. He could feel blood. His eyes stung with tears, and he let them fall. Tears fell from her eyes too, but it might have just been from the pain. He could have had any woman he wanted back then, any of them. Any of them except her. He had always been too afraid to tell her how he felt, and now she was going to kill him. Even if he felt frightened now, it was nothing compared to how she had made him feel then. Again, anyone but her. He could tell any of them that he cared, that he loved them. Only for her he would have meant it. _Three seconds._

"Because, Roy." She choked out, tears rolling down her cheeks. Real ones this time, not like the ones she had been faking downstairs as Alice Herzenauer. His own tears were still spilling, but the low of them was not stopping. She looked directly into his eyes as she moved her other hand down her top, pulling out a pocketwatch he remembered so clearly. It had once been his, but it had gone missing the day she had.

"I love you." She told him. _One second._

He could feel his heart beating as she pulled on the trigger, then he clicked his fingers in one fluid movement. He saw her smile as he did so. He felt himself smiling back. She was still compleatly devoted to him. She was going down with him because of it. As the explosion sounded out and he felt himself falling to the ground, he grinned even brighter as he felt her body land on top of his as she began to scream like he had never heard her do so before. He muttered what he was certain would be his final words as he let the chaos unfold around them on this cold December morning as the clock tower chimed twelve at night across the street from them.

What he said to her was the truth.

* * *

He heard a clock chime twelve as he started to walk up the stairs. 

As soon as he did so, Alex Lois Armstong heard an explosion. Many people began to rush past him, screaming about evacuating the building. In a few moments, they all stood oustide. He frowned.

Roy and the woman who looked like Riza were nowehere to be seen.

He looked at the burning building as the sounds of ambulences and fire truck sirens filled the air, even police sirens joining into the fraying mix of sounds that were beginning to make the head of the strong arm alchemist spin. Walking forward to the rubble, he saw mothers cover the eyes of their children as they all noticed a limp clenched hand stuck out from under the rubble. Judging by the feminity of it, it had been a female. He grimaced again.

He unclenched it, and a charred silver object fell to the ground. The watch of a state alchemist. It could not be Roys, for it looked to old. Opening it, he looked at something scratched into the cold metal at the front. He squinted, recognising the scratched in writing of Roy's pocketwatch from about a year ago. It had gone missing the same Sunday as Riza had.

_On Sunday, I'll tell Riza I love her._

Alex Lois Armstrong looked at the destruction around him for a moment, then smiled as he looked at the clock tower across the road that he had heard chiming moments beforehand to signify it was now a Monday morning.

Roy Mustang had lied.

* * *

Well, this came out as a load of angst. Great. 

Reviews are much appriciated, as I like to know what people thought of it. Constructive critism is more welcome than just saying you like/hate it though.

Anyone care to make my Sunday?


End file.
